


Killer Date

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gunplay, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Tony's fifth date starts with death threats and payouts and only goes uphill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killer Date

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [avengerkink for the prompt:](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/12672.html?thread=29181056#t29181056) There are more than a few high rollers who would like Tony Stark out of the picture. Clint is hired to seduce, rob, and assassinate Tony. 
> 
> At some point Tony figures this out but his only reaction is ask Clint what made Clint think that Tony himself wouldn't be the highest bidder. Cue Tony offering Clint double what he's being paid now if Clint comes to work for him. As a bodyguard, to take out Tony's own enemies, to suck his dick...whatever Tony wants. 
> 
> Sort of would love something darker, gritty. Gunplay maybe? Tony in control but that doesn't mean Clint isn't pushy. Where they love each other in their own messed up ways.

"What?" Tony asked, lying back and smirking at Clint's stunned expression. Clint felt like he'd just been sucker-punched at Tony's words, and that was impressive when his mark should have been entirely fucked-out, pliant and exhausted, ready to fall into sleep in the next second. This was their fifth date, which had been plenty of time for Clint to case the house, learn Tony's preferences, and get a plan in place to both get out with the data his employers had wanted as well as leave Tony dead in his bed with a simulated heart attack. All he'd needed was one vulnerable moment and the rest of his asking price was as good as in his hand.

None of that had factored in Tony looking up at him after what should have been a marathon of sex, looking far too bright-eyed and bushy tailed and saying, _"Why didn't you think I would be the highest bidder?"_

"You..." Clint got out and trailed off as Tony just looked at him expectantly. He'd been made, and even if he was almost certain he could complete his job even now, it wouldn't be clean. If Tony had figured out Clint had been hired to take him down and still let him in his bed, he had to have some angle to keep himself safe. Live video feed, guards behind the door, something. 

"Me," Tony said, and arched an eyebrow. "How much were they paying you to off me?"

"$500k," Clint said, not seeing the point in evading. His life could be measured in minutes right now, and Clint's professional pride would not let him beg. He was a mercenary, after all. 

Tony nodded and did a little shift of his hips that reminded Clint very viscerally of why he was sore in all the right places.

"I'll pay you a million a year to play on my team."

Clint's jaw dropped.

"Work for me, be my bodyguard, protect me from whatever bozos come after me, take out anyone else I need to," Tony said. He paused and looked at Clint speculatively. "Get me off when I want it, too, because tonight was pretty fun."

"But-."

"You've got to be the best, because I almost didn't figure it out until tonight. And really that's a job interview I just couldn't pass up. There's no way I can let you go." Tony knelt up on the bed and put his hand on the back of Clint's neck in a possessive gesture. "You're too good for those assholes that hired you."

"You don't want to know which one?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You'd tell me?"

"Once you sign the contract and I see my bank balance, I'm all yours." Tony's hand on the back of his neck firmed up at those words and Clint licked his lips in anticipation.

A million dollars a year? Shit, Clint could take that along with what else he'd banked and retire while all his parts still worked. That was worth being Tony Stark's... whatever. Bodyguard/personal assassin/boy toy. He'd had far worse jobs with much worse employers.

Tony leaned over and pulled a StarkPad out of his nightstand and turned it towards Clint. It showed a detailed and comprehensive contract, just waiting for his signature and thumbprint. Clint read slowly and carefully, not missing word of legalese despite Tony crowding a bit closer with every paragraph. When he started nuzzling Clint's neck distractingly, Clint took a moment to flip Stark on his back and secure him to the headboard with zip ties with blithe disregard for the man's dignity.

"That's no way to treat your employer," Tony pouted.

"Until you get my John Hancock on this contract, you are still on my kill list, Stark. I want to be perfectly clear; if I don't like what I see, I stop your heart and go hide someplace while your enemies pick over the remains of your little technological empire. Just FYI."

"Nice to meet a professional, for once."

Tony actually sounded sincere, if a tiny bit uncertain. As well he should be, because unless he had a quick-release headboard, he was completely at Clint’s mercy right now. Clint flicked his eyes over to Tony now and again as he read the contract, and saw him pulling against the restraints, his cock stirring in renewed interest.

“Kinky bastard,” Clint said casually, reading a sub-clause on page twenty.

“I thought that was self-evident after I busted out the candle wax and leather on our first date.”

“Amateur hour,” Clint said with a showy yawn.

“Hard for a man to fake an orgasm.” Tony was smirking.

Clint flipped him the bird and kept reading. Tony shifted again, trying to stretch out a foot to caress Clint’s arm. Clint reached down to his jeans on the floor, freed a small blade hidden behind his belt buckle, and threw it without looking, shaving off a lock of Tony’s hair as it embedded itself in the headboard.

 _“Fuck,”_ Tony said, his voice soft and heated.

Clint read faster, feeling his own libido starting to bubble. He’d hate to waste such a potentially generous employer that was also a tiger in the sack, but he hadn’t gotten this far by skipping details. A firm grip to Tony’s balls in a way that could go very good or very bad finally got him to stop squirming around. Clint finally nodded as he reviewed the last page, pulse going up as he pressed his thumb to the touch screen. It politely cheeped at him.

“It’s got voice-print,” Tony said hoarsely. He was carefully, carefully still, his cock hard and heated above Clint’s wrist.

Clint read what he was supposed to repeat and rolled his eyes. “I, Clinton Barton, agree to be Tony Stark’s personal assassin, bodyguard, security consultant, and sexual companion for compensation of one million dollars annually, contingent upon fulfillment of duties and respectful of the clauses and rights above.”

The StarkPad cheeped again, indicating that the balance transfer had been made. Tony made a sound that could have been interpreted as pain, but Clint had his hand full and knew better. Clint took a moment to check his bank balance on his own phone, and nodded in satisfaction. He turned to look at Tony full on, seeing him aroused and sweating, eyes dark, pupils blown, straining against the restraints, but there was still a calculating shrewdness in his wanton manner. Clint didn’t forget for a second that his “fucked out” mark had just casually dropped the fact that he’d penetrated his cover.

“I’m all yours, boss,” Clint said, and released Tony’s family jewels.

“Restraints off.” Tony’s voice was still rough, but the playful edge he’d had had gone a little darker.

Clint leaned forward to pull the blade from the headboard and cut the ties in two quick motions. As Tony sat up, he seemingly brushed the headboard and came away with a gun in his hand. Clint riveted on it. He loved all distance weapons, from throwing daggers to sniper rifles to bows. The last was his favorite – though a bit awkward to carry at times, it was not much worse in that department than a sniper rifle, never required a silencer, and its ammo could never be traced back to his weapon. But handguns held their own kind of quiet, compact beauty.

Tony Stark made the best weapons in the world, and he kept the very best for himself. That was what his previous employer had wanted and now was never going to get. The gun in Tony’s hand had be custom, a sleek .32 that looked like an extension of Tony’s arm, it was so perfectly designed. Tony must have molded it precisely to his hand, and what exactly he’d made it out of to get that golden-red sheen, Clint couldn’t say, but he knew the alloy had to be something new and probably industry-altering. 

“Nice, huh?” Tony asked, waggling the gun. Clint could see the safety was off, and it was definitely loaded.

“Beautiful,” Clint said honestly. Tony quirked his eyebrow.

“This baby is never going on the market, but I bet Mr. Cheapskate-Who-Hired-You wanted to see it mass-produced in some sub-standard factory he had set up someplace with bad human rights laws.”

“Justin Hammer had that as the second thing on the list,” Clint said, keeping his eyes on the gun. Tony was not being particularly careful where he pointed it. Clint felt blood flowing south and shifted his hips a little.

“Douche,” Tony said with irritation.

“Well-paying douche at the time. Jericho missiles were at the top, along with the new bunker-busters.”

“Did he tell you how he wanted me to die?”

“Oh, he had all kinds of Bond villain-esque ideas. But that’s why he hired a professional instead, because he’d already tried them and you have more lives than a cat.”

Tony actually purred a little as he leaned forward and drew the barrel of the gun up Clint’s thigh. Clint froze in place, except for his cock, which tried to imitate the Empire State Building.

“Hot,” Tony muttered. “How were _you_ gonna do it?”

“A little poison that would have stopped your heart. A cocktail that wouldn’t show up on a tox screen, not after what you drank at the party.”

“Multiple components?” Tony asked. The gun barrel crept higher, sliding along his hip.

“Yeah,” Clint said, his voice rough.

“I already had some tonight, didn’t I?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said again. The gun moved again, now pressing firmly into his belly button. Clint’s cock was seemingly straining to touch it, and he licked his lips.

“What’s the last component?”

“The scotch on your sideboard.”

“You fucker,” Tony said in admiration. “You don’t know what I paid for that. That’s my favorite.”

“Exactly,” Clint said. His breath hitched a little, and he shrugged. “Go without for a day and the rest of the stuff’ll be out of your system in twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll be needing a distraction, then,” Tony said, the gun pressed against Clint’s heart. Tony slid it up again until it rested against Clint’s temple. “Stop talking.”

Clint leaned forward, but slowly, slowly so Tony could follow him down with the weapon, all the way down until Clint swallowed Tony’s erection, sucking gently. As Tony hummed in appreciation, the gun found a home between his shoulder blades, tracing each vertebrae as Clint lapped and sucked, his hips jerking as he rubbed off against the bed in time with the metal sliding over his bones.

“Now who’s the kinky bastard?” Tony demanded breathlessly. “My own fucking private assassin, that’s who.”

Clint couldn’t laugh, but moaned around Tony’s cock as he drove them both steadily higher, slowly drawing out one more orgasm from their sex-satiated bodies. But with Clint on his knees in front of Tony and Tony’s gun sliding along Clint’s back, everything was going a lot faster than he’d anticipated. In minutes, the gun was pressing cold against Clint’s hole, a steady, relentless pressure, and Tony’s hips jerked as Clint’s mouth sucked him hard. The next minute Clint was spilling against the sheets, sprawled between Tony’s legs with the gun tucked between them.

“You need to have better screening on your dates,” Clint said lazily, his voice a little hoarse as he curved his body around Tony and the warm firearm in his hand.

Tony raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like me. Anyone who wants to bone you has to get by me. At least you know they aren’t going to try to poison your scotch, then. All the other security improvements we’ll talk about in the morning.”

“Deal,” Tony said, and possessively curled his hand around Clint, only to find him wriggling to get one arm free, the little dagger in his hand.

“Gonna save me with that if any big bad killers come through the door?” Tony asked.

“Either that or wait until you fall asleep, cut your throat and make off with those weapons’ specs and two payouts,” Clint said casually, and laid his head against Tony’s side.

Tony shivered all over pleasantly, kissed the top of Clint’s head, and relaxed against his assassin.


End file.
